


Comfortably Numb

by notyourdaydream



Category: Glee
Genre: Also a little angst, Canon Compliant, Gen, Recreational Drug Use, spoiler alert: they get high
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26922310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notyourdaydream/pseuds/notyourdaydream
Summary: “So please,” She extends another perfectly rolled blunt to him, extending one of her rare, soft smiles he knows are usually only reserved for Brittany to him. “Get high with me.”In which Kurt and Santana smoke weed. Based off a TikTok comment.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Kurt Hummel & Santana Lopez, Santana Lopez/Brittany S. Pierce, both only mentioned sadly
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	Comfortably Numb

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah so remember when I said the next thing I posted would be my "Book of Sleepovers"? Sorry to say this isn't that. I promise that will be the next thing I post, but I had a lot of fun writing this. (Side note: I've never been high before, so I'll have my resources linked below!)

It was a snowy New York afternoon, Kurt’s favorite type of New York day. It meant he could stay inside and read Vogue magazines, or watch movies huddled up on the couch with Adam, or bake bread, filling the whole Bushwick apartment with the smell of yeast and cinnamon. Snowy New York days were always peaceful. 

Except for today, when Rachel and Santana were in the middle of a screaming match.

Kurt didn’t really know what caused it. Frankly he didn’t know what caused half of their arguments. But past the curtain separating his room from the living room, they were stomping around in circles, their voices carrying throughout the loft. It was days like these that Kurt missed Lima, because he could go to Mercedes or Blaine or his dad when two friends went at it. He wasn’t stuck in the middle. He briefly thought about calling Adam, asking him if he could come by and pick him up now, but he decided against it. Something told him Adam wouldn’t understand the struggles of living with two total divas.

“Screw you! You’re just upset because you will _never_ be as successful as me!” Rachel's voice rang out from the living room, before the door slammed and a pair of high heels clicked down the hallway.

Kurt climbed off his bed and pulled the curtain open, reluctant to look at the wreckage of the fight. He was hoping there wasn’t too much of a mess, because whenever Santana and Rachel cried and forgave each other, he always seemed to be the one picking up lipstick tubes or clothes strewn around their place. This time though, the damage is pretty minimal. Santana was criss crossed on the floor in front of a drawer, throwing things out at a wild rate.

“What was this one about?” Kurt leaned against the wall, watching Santana sift through the contents of a manila folder. “And what are you looking for?”

“Jesus, Hummel,” Santana says, tossing the folder over her shoulder. “You ask too many questions. But if you must know, Rachel is pissy because I told her Brody was using her.” She shrugs, before closing her hands around a small bag and standing up, a grin on her face.

Kurt hurries over to the new mess Santana made. He gathers up the random items from the drawer, and god they really need to organize. In what world do folders go with pepper spray and colored pencils? Why do they even own colored pencils? “Where is Rachel now? Brody’s?” Kurt wipes the nonexistent dust off his pants and spins on his heels, seeing Santana peel her dress off for some sweatpants and a sweater. A year ago, seeing a girl in nothing but underwear, even briefly, would disgust him. But now it doesn’t seem to phase him. Besides there isn’t much to look at anyway. Santana would disagree, but boobs really aren’t much to look at.

“Yeah but who cares? I bet you she’ll come back crying tomorrow morning. Which gives us plenty of time to have some fun with this.” Santana holds up a small plastic baggie and shakes it, and oh my god, is that…

“Is that _weed, Santana?”_ Kurt shrieks and rushes over to the living room, where Santana has unzipped the bag and pulled out some small papers. She looks up at him over her fake lashes.

“For your information, Lady Hummel, it is.” She says, rolling the paper and weed into a stick shape, twisting the fatter end closed.

“What happened to ‘drugs are bad’? I mean, you literally think Brody is a drug dealer!” Kurt throws his arms up in defense, moving to snatch the foul smelling plant from her quick fingers.

“Okay first of all, weed isn’t a _drug_ ,” she shrugs, yanking her arm back from Kurt’s grip. “Second, when I say Brody is a drug dealer I mean actual drugs, like crack cocaine or crystals.”

“Weed is a gateway drug, Santana. Meaning after you do this, you’ll be knocking on Brody’s door begging for his crystals.” Kurt says.

“Wanky.”

“You know what I meant!” Kurt frowns, sitting on the couch and putting his head in his hands.

“Kurt, weed isn’t a gateway drug, this stuff is perfectly safe. I bought this for twenty bucks from a cheerleader back in Kentucky.” Kurt gapes at her, because how would that make him feel better, but Santana continues speaking. “You’ve gotta stop being so naive. That dumb D.A.R.E stuff is a total lie.”

“So please,” She extends another perfectly rolled blunt to him, extending one of her rare, soft smiles he knows are usually only reserved for Brittany to him. “Get high with me.”

This is a really bad idea. “This is a really bad idea.” Kurt says, but he reaches for the joint anyway, bringing it to his lips and inhaling. “Nothing’s happening.” Santana whoops beside him. He frowns. He was trying to be serious.

“Oh my god! You really are sheltered.” Santana wipes at her eyes and grabs the lighter off of the coffee table. “You have to light it first.” She lights her own, inhaling and exhaling, blowing the smoke out of her mouth and smiling.

So he does the same. Almost immediately, a burn fills his lungs, and he can’t breathe. He hacks messily, holding the weed away from him to cough into his elbow. Santana giggles.

“Try again.” She pushes the joint back towards him, and he throws her a glare as he starts to breathe normally. Because seriously, did she not see him almost die?!

But he tries again, bringing the joint to his mouth and inhaling, softer this time. This feeling crowds his body, like a flower opening up in his chest. He feels softer, kind of. Like a few puffs and he could imagine he was sitting on a cloud, not their too hard couch. He exhales and sighs.

“Good, isn’t it? The girl said something about a hybrid? So get ready to do some fuckshit with me in an hour or two.” Kurt turns to look at Santana and good _god._ Her eyes are red like she’s been crying, and her voice is a bit croaky. The only way Kurt can tell she isn’t upset is because she’s smiling, lopsided and large.

“Oh my god, Santana. Your eyes!” He exclaims.

“My eyes? You should see yours! They’re totally bloodshot.” Santana shrugs, relaxing back into the couch. Kurt does the same. It’s silent except for the soft whooshes of burning paper as they smoke. The silence, though comfortable, unnerves him.

“What’re we waiting for?” He sits up suddenly.

“For the high to start,” She says, shrugging nonchalantly. 

Normally, Kurt would huff out in annoyance. He hadn’t planned on sitting around all day doing nothing. Adam wanted him to come over to his place and practice songs for the Adam’s Apples, which meant they’d be doing things that did not involve the Adam’s Apples. But now, Kurt settled back into the cushions. He couldn’t really be bothered with Adam, or singing, or even responding to Santana. So inhales again, closing his eyes and enjoying the delicious burn he feels from the smoke.

\---

Kurt doesn’t know how long he and Santana have been sitting there, puffing out small clouds of smoke. Everything feels hazy, like that feeling when you take a nap in the afternoon and wake up to the smell of dinner hitting your nose. Like time isn’t real, just unbelievably slow. He pulls himself up, arms heavy and sluggish.

“I think I’m high now,” He says. 

Santana laughs beside him, high pitched and almost unbearable to listen to. “Me too. It’s been-” she grabs her phone, eyes widening.“-shit, it’s been an hour. Didn’t you have that sex thing with Adam later?”

Kurt scoffs. “It wasn’t a _sex thing_ , Santana,”

“Oh please! No self respecting person goes over to their partner’s apartment to ‘practice singing’.” She says, putting air quotes around the last two words.

Kurt rolls his eyes and leans back. He was kind of dreading going to Adam’s house. Ever since that disaster of a wedding, the only person that fills his mind is Blaine. Which isn’t a good thing when you have a boyfriend back home. Or whatever Adam is to him. 

“Do you love him?”

“What?” Kurt blubbers. Santana’s outburst completely shatters his feeling of fuzziness, and he’s reminded, just for a second, that they’re smoking an illegal substance. But the feeling passes as soon as it came. He does his best to put on a cool face in front of Santana.

“I mean, can you see yourself falling in love with him? Getting married, having kids with Mr. Mid Atlantic?” She continues.

“No. No I couldn’t,” The answer comes quickly. Really, he can’t see Adam kneeling in front of him, asking Kurt to spend the rest of his life with him. He can’t see himself crying and saying yes, pulling Adam into a kiss and sniffling as he slides the ring onto his finger. There’s only one man he can imagine that life with.

“Then why are you with him?” Santana turns to face him now, her eyes less bloodshot than before.

“I thought you were the queen of casual hookups,” Kurt quips.

“I am, but you aren’t. I mean, you just discovered the magical art of rainbow gay sex a year ago. So answer the question,” She shoots back.

Kurt sighs. Santana really doesn’t know how to quit. “I don’t know! I guess… guess it’s so I won’t think. About Blaine, about what he did. But I screwed that all up when I slept with him at the wedding, cause now he’s the only guy I think about,” Kurt adds quietly, “And he doesn’t even know.”

“Damn,” Santana says after a beat. “Clark Kent really messed you up.” Kurt gives a shaky nod in response, choosing to ignore the nickname.

“It’s just, it was so hard to forgive him after what he did,” Kurt says. “But now that I have, I just want what we had back.” What we had was special, Kurt thinks. And Blaine ruined it. But Kurt ruined it too, and somehow, forgiving himself is harder than forgiving Blaine. He ignored Blaine. Not on purpose, but Kurt supposes that doesn’t matter, that it hurts just as much. So he threw himself into everything he could. Vogue, NYADA, Adam, so he could pretend it was the perfect New York life he had imagined. But one thought swarmed his head when the lights were out and it was quiet, or when Adam kissed him or held his hand:

_This isn’t perfect._

“I feel the same way. With Brittany,” Santana’s voice is thick and her eyes are glassy with unshed tears. She looks small, and Kurt sees her for what she really is: a scared girl, living in the Big Apple, with no sense of direction. The only other time he’s ever seen her resolve crack was when Finn outed her senior year.

“She was, she is my rock. And I’ll always love her. I’ve gotta get her back. I need her back,” Her voice cracks, and Kurt throws his arms around her in a hug. He’s hugged her maybe three or four times, always brief, more of a formality than anything. But as Kurt takes her into his arms, he feels how thin she is. Not enough to make him concerned, but more than he thought. That her smell of roses and cinnamon rise above the stink of marijuana. She rubs small circles into the small of his back, like she’s kneading dough.

The peaceful moment is interrupted when Kurt's stomach growls. Santana laughs, quietly at first, louder and louder until they both shake with the force of it. Kurt can’t help but laugh, too. He pulls back and holds her by the shoulders, shaking her back and forth.

When their laughs subside, Kurt says, “Okay can we eat? I’m really hungry,” Santana nods and hoists them both up, and they trudge their way towards the kitchen.

Santana rifles through the cabinets, throwing out Rachel’s vegan mac and cheese mix to grab something from the back. The box hits the floor before Kurt even thinks about grabbing it. Oh well, he shrugs. It’s disgusting anyway. He blinks at Santana, holding a box mix of devil's food brownies.

“Ta da!” She sets the box down and grabs a bowl, and Kurt decides to make himself useful by getting the eggs and milk.

“Hey Santana,” Kurt turns from the fridge, holding an egg. “Catch.” He tosses the egg to her, watching in horror as it hits the ground at her feet. She had barely moved, her usually quick hands fumbling as she knelt down, using a paper towel to clean up the mess. Kurt winces, expecting her to chastise him, but she just laughs and tosses the shell away.

“Nice one, Hummel,” She chortles.

\---

It had taken forever to bake the brownies, but Kurt chalked it up to their cotton ball filled brains. He takes hold of a knife, ready to cut the brownies into vaguely rectangular shapes. But Santana, lips already chocolatey from licking the spoon clean (much to Kurt’s dismay), sinks a fork into the pan.

“Whoops,” Santana says unapologetically, but she holds out another fork to Kurt.

Smirking, he takes the fork and has a bite. “Oh my god,” he moans. “I don’t know if this is the high talking, but this brownie is sinful,”

Santana slides down to the floor, pan in hand. “Don’t cream your pants, Hummel.”

Kurt sits criss cross next to her, digging his fork back into the warm pan. The apartment is silent, except for the scraping of forks against metal, and Santana quietly humming a song. Pink Floyd, Kurt realizes as he listens closer. He never pegged her for a rock girl. He’s known Santana for four years, and he still feels as though he knows virtually nothing about her. He supposes part of that is her own doing, keeping herself closed off so she doesn’t get hurt, or let down. She was so mean in high school, always quick with a snide remark. But Kurt had never really _tried_ , to get past her prickly exterior and to her soft inside. Thinking about it now, they could’ve been doing this the whole time. Well, maybe not getting high and eating brownies, because his waistband simply could not handle that. But actually talking to each other, and smiling, _genuinely_ smiling, being nice just because they can. Because Santana is a really awesome person, and Kurt is sure he already knows this. But he also knows she could afford to hear it more often.

Kurt doesn’t say any of this to her though. He just lays his head on her shoulder, even though the angle is awkward, and sings the rest of the song she’s humming.

  
  


_I turned to look but it was gone_

_I cannot put my finger on it now_

_The child is grown_

_The dream is gone_

_I have become comfortably numb_

  
  


“You’re a great singer, Kurt. I’m sorry I made fun of your voice,” Santana whispers, so softly Kurt could swear he didn’t hear it.

“Thank you, Santana.” He murmurs, guiding her head to lie on top of his. Her fork makes a soft clink in the empty pan as she lets it go. Kurt shuts his eyes as she runs a hand lamely through his hair. Normally he’d pull away, but his high has him feeling sleepy and mellow. He revels in the touch.

\---

Hours later, past sunset, Rachel walks into the apartment.

“Kurt? Santana?” She yells from the entrance. No response.

“Well, if you two are mad at me, I’d really like to talk this over. I brought Thai food,” she singsongs, rustling the bag. “I’m sorry alright? Brody isn’t using me, but Santana I’m sorry for saying you weren’t talented.” Rachel walks to the living room and scrunches up her nose.

“It really stinks in here, guys. I told you, if you’re gonna buy fresh fish or some smelly cheese, open the windows!” She goes to set the Thai on the coffee table, but recoils in horror at the extra buds of dope next to their decorative rattan globe. “What the _hell_ , Santana! You, you brought drugs into the apartment? What is wrong with you? I can’t believe you- oh my god!” Rachel stomps into the kitchen, gaping at the scene in front of her: Kurt and Santana, slumped against the oven door, asleep. She screams.

Kurt jolts awake at the sound of Rachel's cries for them to wake them up, pleading for them to be okay. The lights are too bright, and Rachel’s big brown eyes in his face, clouded with concern. Santana stirs next to him, sitting up and stretching.

“Oh my god you guys! I thought you two were dead,” Rachel huffs out angrily, sitting on the floor across from them.

Kurt laughs weakly. It isn’t funny, not really. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows Rachel will give them an earful, and god knows how long the smell of pot will stick around. But right now, it doesn’t matter, so he laughs. His shoulders shake with the force of it, and he can hear Santana laugh beside him. Their chorus of laughter rises above Rachel’s annoyed rant, and her scowl is blurred by his happy tears.

Yeah, they are definitely doing this again.

**Author's Note:**

> Linked Resources:  
> (https://www.google.com/amp/s/crissverahelps.tumblr.com/post/40293627042/how-to-play-a-character-under-the-influence-of/amp
> 
> https://www.healthline.com/health/what-does-it-feel-like-to-be-high#what-it-feels-like)
> 
> All of your comments and kudos on my last two posts were so sweet! They really keep me motivated. I promise the first chapter of the sleepover book will be posted soon, hopefully before the end of the week.


End file.
